


the safe house

by PrincessButter87



Series: One Shots [1]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Loneliness, Nightmares, Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie) Spoilers, basically peter goes into hiding after (redacted) tells (redacted) that (super fucking redacted)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 07:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19459369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessButter87/pseuds/PrincessButter87
Summary: After the events of Far From Home, Peter is forced into hiding while Fury tries to clear his name. However, while he seems to know what's real while he's awake, he's not so lucky when he's asleep.





	the safe house

**Author's Note:**

> so! many! spoilers!!!  
> also hi, it's been a while, i've been busy. i saw ffh today and ooooooh boy it is Angst Fuel. so I wrote a quick (read: spent three hours crying over my laptop) one shot about the fall out of That Scene.  
> it's not as long as i'd like, but i might come back and throw in some more details.

**Safe house – Day One**

It was a weird space. I was underground, but the place was built like a modern penthouse, complete with holographic “windows”. There was one way in and out, and it was via an elevator I didn’t have access to. Access was limited to Nick Fury, and temporary access would be granted to anybody delivering necessities.

_“You’ll be here a week max. We’ll clear your name, pull your cover back together, make sure you’re safe. Until then, it’s just you and Edith. Get cozy.”_

That hadn’t been a concerning speech to get.

It was better than being snapped at in Venice, though.

Within an hour of being down here, I felt like I was losing my mind. The windows were just panels with holographics, and my…tingle…or sixth sense…whatever it was, was heightened down here. Less stimuli from being outside, maybe. So the windows were making me dizzy.

“Okay, just me and Edith. I just have to make do. I don’t have a choice.”

I flopped down onto the couch, a pale grey couch that had no business being as comfortable as it was, and put on the glasses.

“So, it’s just you and me this week.”

“What would you like me to do?” Edith asked in that helpful, monotone voice.

I sighed, closing my eyes. “Do you have anything from Mr. Stark? Like…just…anything. I need to hear his voice.”

“Oh, you mean the message of encouragement he left for you?”

“I- yes.”

“Playing.”

I opened my eyes, and found Mr. Stark’s.

“Hey, kid. I- god, I know if you’re seeing this it’s because I’m not there to call you or see you myself, but…you know what I’d tell you. I want you to be better. I…I want you to come out the other end…better. And you can. You can do what needs to be done. Hell, you kicked ass in pyjamas, and I’m not there to take your tech away this time, so…so I know you’ll be okay. You have to be better. I’m counting on you to be…better. Queens needs it’s friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man, after all. You got this, Peter. I believe in you, in this life and the next.”

By the time the message was over, I was sniffling. I took off the glasses and tossed them onto the coffee table, covering my face with my hands so I could cry.

“I miss you, I miss you, I miss you!”

I sobbed, loud, painful sobs.

“If you’d been there, none of this would’ve happened. None of this would’ve happened if you’d just…why do you always have to be the hero? Even dead, you _have_ to be the hero!”

I got up and flipped the couch, then sank back to the ground, pulling my knees to my chest and crying again.

“I need you. You have to come back. Please, T-Tony, you have to come back.”

I stared at the glasses, at the miniaturized frame, Mr. Stark smiling at me.

“I need you to believe in me in this life. _This_ one. Because you left me behind.”

***

I want to tell you that I did something productive that first day. That I made web fluid or fixed my suit or figured out how to turn off the holograms.

But I didn’t.

I sat in various places in the safe house and cried. Cried over Mr. Stark. Cried over my cover being blown. Cried over potentially losing…everyone.

I was alone down here, and I had no guarantee that it’d be any different when I was finally above ground again.

No guarantee that MJ would believe me. No guarantee that Ms. Potts or Morgan would believe me. No guarantee that the world would believe me.

_“I believe in you, in this life and the next.”_

I just wish that were enough.

**Safe house – Night one**

“You are in over your head, Peter.”

It was black. I was floating in black space, and the voice seemed to be coming from all around me.

“You’re just a kid. There’s nothing special about you. You’re the failed experiment from a failure of a hero.”

_No. No no no no no._

“Beck, let me- let me go- stop trying- you can’t trick me anymore!”

“If you’re so sure of that, Peter, hit me. Punch me right in the nose.”

I closed my eyes. _Come on, Spider-Man. You can do this. Mr. Stark would believe in you._

There was nothing. Nothing to break the illusion.

The tingle was offline.

“That’s what I thought.”

“No, no no no no no-”

There was a familiar screech, the familiar sensation of the life being knocked out of you, and-

***

“No!”

I sat up, drenched in cold sweat, panting. Desperately, I slapped my whole body, making sure I was still in one piece.

_You’re not in the Netherlands, Peter. You haven’t been hit by a train. It was just a dream._

_Just a dream._

I kicked off the blankets, and left my bedroom.

**Safe house – Day two**

I missed everyone. I missed May, and MJ, and Ned, and Happy, and Tony.

I was so alone. So isolated.

So scared.

Beck’s words echoed through the safe house. “You’re just a scared little kid.”

I was scared. And I felt small. I felt like I was five years old again, crying to Ben about missing my mommy. Like I was fourteen, crying to May about Ben.

I was so sick of missing people, but now I missed everyone, all at once, and it was like drowning. There was nothing to block it out, nothing to distract me. No neighbourhood to patrol. No LEGO set to build. No tests to study for.

Just the crushing anxiety that there was nothing left for me upstairs.

I wish I could tell you I did something productive that second day, too. Take advantage of the punching bag in the corner of the living room. Cook. Think of more productive things I should’ve been doing.

Instead, I listened to Mr. Stark’s message for me again, and then spent the whole day laying on the floor, wishing I could believe that he’d still believe in me, even after my colossal fuck ups.

I wasn’t Spider-Man. I definitely wasn’t the new Iron Man.

I was a scared little kid, crying next to a couch he flipped over, wishing he’d been left a time machine instead of a pair of glasses.

**Safe house – Night two**

_“No. I know how to do this.”_

_“Come and get ‘em, Peter.”_

_I tried. I tried so hard. But every step was just slightly misjudged, the illusion too strong for me to break through. I slipped, stumbled, rolled across the floor, the fog only parting when I felt a foot on my chest._

_And there he was, standing over me. Mysterio._

_“I’ll do it right this time.”_

_I stared down the barrel of a gun, just for a moment, before-_

_BANG!_

***

I woke up with a shout, sitting up too fast and throwing myself off the edge of the bed.

I landed on the ground, hair soaked with sweat, legs tangled in sheets, tears running down my face before I could even gather my thoughts.

“Fuck,” I breathed, running my hands over my face. _“FUCK!”_

I kicked the sheets off, only to fall back into them and pull them around myself.

There was no May, to come in after a nightmare and sit with me until I fell back asleep.

Scared. Small. Alone.

Pathetic and sad and _tragic_.

I missed hot dogs and sitting on fire escapes and talking to actual human beings that weren’t named something snarky by my dead mentor.

_“You can do what needs to be done.”_

That meant lasting a few more days, until Fury could clear my name.

I could do that. I could bet on myself for a few days.

Mr. Stark would’ve, right?

**Safe house – Day three**

I did what had to be done. I made my bed. Cooked. Moved the couch back. Ate. Showered. Found the switch that turned off the holograms.

If Mr. Stark could bet on me to save the world, I could bet on myself to keep myself sane for a few more days. Just until my name was cleared. Just until Fury picked up all the pieces and put them back together and fixed my life for me.

I hated relying on him. Part of me wanted to take the footage and review it myself and find evidence that it was tampered with. At the very least, it’d be something to do. I hated waiting around for someone else to fix it for me.

But I was safe this way.

Well, safe from mobs with torches and pitch forks.

I wasn’t really safe from…the loneliness.

That was the thing about the modern aesthetic. It was pretty, but a cold white expanse did nothing for the feeling of total isolation.

Neither did the fact that my windows were now grey panels. It was better than the constant dizziness, but it made it so much more…blunt.

I was basically in a bunker. I’d reached my Judgement Day, and now I was several hundred feet below someone’s garden, waiting out the apocalypse.

But hey. I’d made some mean mac ‘n’ cheese. So maybe the post-apocalypse would be okay.

**Safe house – Night three**

_I was alone in a black room._

_“You’re so needy. You’ll latch on to anybody who you think could be your next father figure. You’re the poster boy for daddy issues.”_

_“That’s- hey, that’s not true. I-”_

_Green smoke filled the air, and when it dissipated, there was a familiar red and gold suit in front of me._

_Metal retracted, exposing a wrinkle-free designer suit, and a pair of glasses that did me no favours._

_“Hey, kid.”_

_“Mr. Stark,” I breathed._

_He smiled, and there was something just…too flawless about the way he did. It was artificial._

_“No, no, this isn’t real. You’re not real.”_

_He took a step towards me, and I stepped back._

_“You’re not my Tony.”_

_“I told you I wanted to see you myself,” he whispered, stepping closer._

_I didn’t step back this time._

_“Come here. Look at you. You’re- god, you’re exactly what I hoped you’d be.”_

_He put a hand on my shoulder, pulling me closer, and I let him. His arms wrapped around me in a tight hug._

_My face fell into his shoulder._

_“I missed you.”_

_“I know, ki-id.”_

_I pulled back a little, confused at the strain in his voice, to see a burn developing on the side of his face, blood dripping from abrasions._

_“No. No, Mr. Stark, you can’t leave me again.”_

_His face paled, and he fell away, dust slipping between my fingers._

_“No!”_

_“Look at you,” Beck’s voice boomed. “You’re clinging to any piece of him to can salvage.”_

_I stared at my hands. Red gloves dirty from the dust._

_“Scared. Small. Alone.”_

_“Peter!”_

_I spun around, and it was May, the back of her shirt bunched up in Mysterio’s hand, feet swinging over an abyss._

_“I’ve got you!”_

_I shot out a web, but it went right through her, and then she dissipated like fog._

_“May!” I called out, spinning around, trying to find her. “May!”_

_“Peter!”_

_I whipped around, only to see her hand disappear into the blackness._

_“May! Please!”_

_I started running, only to trip over uneven ground and sprawl across…concrete._

_“I wish I didn’t have to do this, Peter, but you leave me no choice.”_

_BANG!_

_May’s body fell, lifeless, next to mine._

_“NO!”_

_I felt her neck for a pulse, and in the moment that I turned my back to Beck…_

_BANG!_

***

My cheeks were already wet with tears when I woke up.

I needed to talk to May. I needed to talk to anybody.

_“Deep down, you know I’m right.”_

How could Mr. Stark believe in me when I was the reason he was gone?

I could’ve done it. I was stronger, I could’ve survived the snap. If I’d just gotten there before-

There was a reason Fury had stashed me down here with strict instructions not to contact anybody.

I wasn’t doing anybody any favours. I wasn’t saving anybody. I wasn’t a hero.

I was a kid. Scared, small, and alone.

**Safe house – Day four**

I took advantage of the punching bag. I punched until my knuckles were bright, angry red, and I couldn’t breathe, and then I kept going. I kept visualizing Beck.

“I trusted you!”

I was yelling at a punching bag, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

“I trusted you and you were just a selfish prick and-”

The punching bag flew off of the hook and hit the wall, then the floor, two loud thuds echoing in the safe house.

I sighed.

“And you deserved to die.”

**Safe house – Night four**

_“Ben?”_

_He was just…sitting there. On the couch, with the paper, like he’d never left._

_“You’re home early. Skipping class?”_

_The words were barely out of his mouth before I jumped onto the couch, burying my face in his neck and wrapping my arms around him._

_“I haven’t been gone that long, kid.”_

_I glanced up, and suddenly I was on a jet, on top of Mr. Stark instead of Uncle Ben._

_“Tony?”_

_The jet disappeared, and I was falling through…nothing._

_“I am…Iron Man.”_

_I hit the ground hard._

_“Get your head out of the clouds, Peter.”_

_“You’re dead,” I mumbled, getting to my feet, stumbling a little. “You died in London.”_

_“Did I?” Beck materialized in front of me. “Maybe you just lost your mind back there. You should really get that checked out.”_

_“Duck!”_

_I dropped to the ground, to see a mace swing through the air above me. It went right through Beck, and he rematerialized behind MJ, holding a gun to her head._

_“Leave her alone.”_

_“You told her, Peter. The second you did, you forfeited her life.”_

_I looked at MJ. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”_

_“You’re Spider-Man. Save me. That’s your job.”_

_I shot out a web, but my web shooter exploded on my wrist, blowing me back._

_I watched, pathetic and helpless, while Beck executed her._

***

_It was an illusion._

_It was a dream, first off, Peter. Come on, dude. Keep it together._

I sighed, running my hands over my face. My hair was soaked in sweat, again. My sheets were a tangled mess, again. My cheeks were salty with tears, again.

“I need this to be over, I need this to be over, I need this to be over,” I mumbled into my hands.

There was one phone down here. It was a landline, in the kitchen. Nick Fury’s number was on a sticky note just below it.

I had three phone numbers in the whole world memorized. May’s, Mr. Stark’s, and MJ’s.

I wanted to call her, apologize for letting her die.

But it was a dream. And she thought I was a murderer anyways.

I wanted to turn off my brain. I wanted to close my eyes without seeing green smoke.

Instead, I put on the glasses.

“Play Mr. Stark’s message.”

“Playing.”

“Hey, kid. I- god, I know if you’re seeing this it’s because I’m not there to call you or see you myself, but…you know what I’d tell you. I want you to be better. I…I want you to come out the other end…better. And you can. You can do what needs to be done. Hell, you kicked ass in pyjamas, and I’m not there to take your tech away this time, so…so I know you’ll be okay. You have to be better. I’m counting on you to be…better. Queens needs it’s friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man, after all. You got this, Peter. I believe in you, in this life and the next.”

I sighed. “Put it on repeat.”

So the message kept playing, until I could close my eyes and just see the inside of my eyelids.

**Safe house – Day five**

I sat on the counter, cross-legged, staring at the phone.

“Nine one seven, zero zero six, two eight one seven.”

_Does the phone even accept a number that isn’t Fury’s?_

“Nine one seven, one zero eight, zero two nine zero.”

_No point testing it only to get sent to the same old, “this number has been disconnected” speech._

“Nine one seven, one one five, one nine four seven.”

_No point in testing it out just to get sent to voicemail by the girl who thinks I’m a murderer._

I leaned back against the backsplash, cussing under my breath.

One week max. Forty-eight hours to go.

_“You got this, Peter. I believe in you, in this life and the next.”_

_How about in this day and the next? Hm? That’s what I need right now, Mr. Stark, but you’re not here and you can’t tell me what I need to hear._

_Nobody can._

I stared at the phone, and recited the numbers again.

**Safe house – Night five**

_I was surrounded by concrete. Big concrete pillars._

_When I looked down, I was wearing my homemade suit._

_When I looked up, Liz’s dad was there. The Vulture._

_Wings whipped around me, breaking through concrete pillars._

_In the blink of an eye, I was crushed under tons of concrete, staring at my reflection in a puddle._

_But it wasn’t the Peter I was at homecoming._

_It was me, now. In my new suit._

_“Come on, Peter. You tackled this guy in your pjs and won. You’re not about to tell me you can’t do that with your tech, are you?”_

_“Come on, Spider-Man.”_

_“Aw, look at you. Scared and small and alone. Nobody’s helping you, Peter. It’s just you.”_

_“Come on, Spider-Man.”_

_“It’s kind of cute, really.”_

_“Come on, Spider-Man.”_

_“You really think you’re gonna win this, don’t you?”_

_The puddle rippled, and my face was replaced with Beck’s._

_“You’re easy to fool when you’re already fooling yourself.”_

_“Peter!”_

_That felt…more real. It was MJ’s voice. Her real voice._

_BANG!_

_The fog lifted. Beck stood there in a motion capture suit, holding a smoking gun._

_And each of the people I loved laid on the ground, blood gathering in a dark red pool around them. May, Happy, Morgan, Ned…_

_“It’s one thing to convince you I’m killing your precious little girlfriend,” Beck said, “and it’s another thing to grow a pair and do it.”_

_Broken pieces of black glass fell out of MJ’s hand, painfully real._

***

The second I was awake, I was bolting for the kitchen. I got tangled in the sheets and fell out of bed, but kicked them off and ran, barely keeping my balance, before slamming into the wall next to the phone, taking the phone off the hook before I could even catch my breath.

_Nine one seven, one one five, one nine four seven._

_Brrrrrring. Brrrrrrrrrrrrring._

“Uh, hello?”

“MJ,” I sighed, relieved. “I-I know it was just a dream but it felt so real and- I’m so lonely and I keep having these nightmares about Beck- sorry, Mysterio- and please,” I begged, voice breaking, tears falling down my face for the millionth time this week, “please, I need you to believe that I’m not a murderer and I never wanted anyone to get hurt and I was just trying to help and everything is so fucked up and I just needed to hear your voice and know that you’re okay but I- if you think I’m a murderer-”

“Peter,” she interrupted. “I was there. I know you didn’t try to commit mass murder.”

I let out a choked sob. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You saved our lives. You saved us from Mysterio. You’re a hero, Peter. That’s the truth, no matter what.”

I cried into the phone for a few minutes, and MJ just listened to the choked, garbled nonsense I was spewing.

“It’s awful here. I’m so scared and lonely and it feels like…like this is my post-apocalyptic bunker, delaying the inevitable, and…what if my name doesn’t get cleared? I can’t live down here forever. I can’t…I can’t hide forever.”

“You won’t have to. I promise. And, trust me, I don’t take promises lightly,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “Go to sleep, Peter.”

“I don’t wanna watch you die again.”

“I’m a phone call away. Go to sleep.”

I sniffled. “Okay. Thank you for…this. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

**Safe house – Day six**

“Good morning, Peter Parker,” Fury greeted as the elevator doors opened. “How did you sleep last night?”

“Not bad.”

“Your call to Miss Michelle Jones help you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he stepped out of the elevator.

I hesitated. “I am so sorry, I know I wasn’t supposed to-”

“You’re just lucky we released the original version of that footage last night. You are no longer public enemy number one. Congratulations.”

I let out a sigh of relief, smiling. “Thank you, sir.”

“Now, we weren’t able to repair your cover, so everyone knows the man under the mask, but if you’re anything like Tony, I’m sure you’ll be able to handle it.”

“I know you’ll be okay. Queens needs it’s friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man, after all. You got this, Peter. I believe in you.”

I nodded. “I think I’ll be okay.”

Fury smiled. “Well, then. After you, Mr. Parker,” he said, gesturing to the open elevator doors.

And, let me tell you, I was never so happy to breathe fresh air.


End file.
